


Beauty

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Breathplay, Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, Nervousness, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safewords, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 02:53:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6035182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kiyoko lifts her free hand, pushes a strand of hair back behind her ear, and it’s then that her lips shift, the edge of white teeth catching to pin back the soft of her lower lip for a moment as her gaze flickers down and away from Hitoka’s. It’s only a moment, a heartbeat of time, but it runs through Hitoka like a lightning bolt to see that telltale tremor at Kiyoko’s mouth, the heat of the reaction thrumming against her lips before she can call it back." Kiyoko asks Hitoka to indulge her, and Hitoka more than rises to the occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glueskin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glueskin/gifts).



“Kiyoko,” Hitoka manages, trying to steady the tremor in her voice and only succeeding in swinging the last syllable of Kiyoko’s name high and desperate in her throat. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“We don’t have to,” Kiyoko tells her. She doesn’t look angry, doesn’t even sound disappointed; Hitoka thinks that makes it worse, somehow. “If it’s not something you want to try, it’s--”

“That’s not it,” Hitoka cuts her off, panic getting the better of politeness and spilling words from her mouth before Kiyoko has finished her sentence. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, it’s that I _can’t_.”

“I think you can,” Kiyoko tells her. “I can talk you through it, we can start slowly.”

“What if I screw it up?” Hitoka ducks her head to stare at the limp curl of her hands in her lap. She can see her fingers shaking, can see adrenaline running hot just under her skin until she can’t still the movement even when she tightens her hands into fists. “I could hurt you without meaning to.”

“You won’t.” Kiyoko reaches out, her fingers glancing against the taut inside of Hitoka’s wrist; her touch is gentle, her fingertips dragging soothing circles against the other girl’s skin. “I trust you, Hitoka. You won’t hurt me.”

“But I _could_ ,” Hitoka says, aiming the words to the gentle angle of Kiyoko’s fingers, to the slide of friction that is easing the panic from her shoulders and loosening the tension in her hands in spite of her fear. “How do you know I won’t on accident?”

“Because you’re so worried.” Kiyoko’s fingers curl around Hitoka’s wrist; when she tenses her grip Hitoka can feel the heat run all the way up the length of her arm, can feel the press of Kiyoko’s touch against her skin as electric and unbelievable as it always is. “You’ll be twice as careful because you’re so nervous.”

Hitoka looks up past the weight of her bangs to where Kiyoko is watching her, her gaze steady behind her glasses. She looks calm, unruffled and as sure of herself as she always does; it makes Hitoka feel rumpled past all hope of recovery, as if her appearance is becoming more disheveled just by proximity. Kiyoko lifts her free hand to push a strand of hair back behind her ear, and it’s then that her lips shift, the edge of white teeth catching to pin back the soft of her lower lip for a moment as her gaze flickers down and away from Hitoka’s. It’s only a moment, only a heartbeat of time, but it runs through Hitoka like a lightning bolt to see that telltale tremor at Kiyoko’s mouth, to see the heat of the reaction thrumming against the other girl’s lips before she can call it back.

“I want to do it,” Hitoka says in a rush, the words turning sudden and impulsive on her tongue in unstudied response to Kiyoko’s motion. Kiyoko’s gaze jumps back up, her eyes widening behind her glasses, but Hitoka is already drawing her hands free of the other girl’s hold and offering her palms for Kiyoko’s gaze. “It’s just.” Her throat tenses, her tongue sticks; she swallows hard, forces the words out in a whisper. “My hands are shaking.”

Kiyoko’s laugh is gentle, so quiet it’s more a huff of air than an actual sound, and when she ducks her head her hair falls over her face to hide her expression. When she lifts her hand it’s only barely, just by the few inches to hover clear of the bedspread. “So are mine.”

Hitoka has to look to see it. Kiyoko’s hands are distracting on their own, the long line of her fingers and the elegant angle of her wrists enough to spark inspiration electric into Hitoka’s veins; it’s not until she blinks and stares that she can bring her attention into focus on the faint tremor against Kiyoko’s palms, on the barely-there movement thrumming to visibility at the very tips of her fingers. It makes Hitoka’s breath catch, stalls her inhale into sudden pressure in her chest, and then she’s reaching out, catching the tremor in Kiyoko’s hands with her own and squeezing until the motion in them both has stalled against the resonance of the other girl’s hands.

“Okay,” Hitoka says, and her voice is still shaking but her blood is hot, her body is sparking fire out into her palms and arcing tension against the curve of her spine. “I’ll do it. I can do this.”

“Yes,” Kiyoko says, and her voice is soft but it hums on heat, purring in the back of her throat like she’s tasting the rich flavor of the words. “You can.”

“Right.” Hitoka takes a breath, squeezes Kiyoko’s hands for a last press of comfort, and then draws her hold away to push her hair back behind her ears. “What do I do?”

Kiyoko drops her hands to her sides and curls her fingers into fists on her skirt. It’s not until she takes a breath that Hitoka can hear the relief on her tongue, not until she lifts her chin that Hitoka can see gratitude turning the color of her eyes so deep they look endless.

“Put your hands on my throat,” she says, almost calmly, almost steadily. When she lifts her chin it’s with the surety of a command, with the angle of absolute certainty. “Start gently at first. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Hitoka flexes her fingers, digs her nails against her palms to steady herself. “Okay,” she says, but her voice is trembling, wobbling in her throat like it can’t catch its balance. “What if--” and her breathing sticks, her words dying to silence for a moment at the very idea of what she’s about to suggest. “What if I push too hard and you can’t talk?”

Kiyoko’s smile spreads out across all her face, stretching at the soft of her mouth and lighting the depth of her eyes like sunlight spilling through clear water, and Hitoka thinks she’d do anything, be anyone, just to make Kiyoko look like that.

“I’ll tap you,” she says, and her hand is coming up, her fingers seeking out the dip of Hitoka’s collarbone. There’s a moment of pressure, the weight of contact laid into the skin once, twice; Hitoka can feel it like a painless brand, as if Kiyoko’s fingerprints have settled into the surface of her skin like permanent ink soaking into a sheet of paper. “Just like that.”

“Okay,” Hitoka says again, and she’s going cool now, distant, adrenaline so strong in her veins it’s pushing everything about this moment into a haze of unreality, like a dream or a movie seen on a too-large screen. “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

Kiyoko ducks her head into a nod. “I promise.”

“Okay.” Hitoka uncurls her fingers, turns her head down to stare at her open palms. She can see the crescents of her nails laid in against her hands, the pressure of her own touch digging faint marks into the pale skin. She takes a breath, lets it out in a rush, and then she’s ready, she’s looking up and lifting her hands in a single motion before she can overthink herself back into stillness. Her fingers are still trembling, her touch is still unsteady, but Kiyoko lifts her chin to make an offering of her throat, and Hitoka’s hands are fitting against the line of her neck, and Kiyoko is breathing out in a rush, the air from her lungs dragging into a sigh of absolute satisfaction before Hitoka has even done anything. Hitoka’s own breathing is catching in her throat, her thoughts are veering dizzy and skidding on the rush of her heartbeat in her chest, but her thumbs fit alongside each other when she moves, and when her fingers curl into a hold Kiyoko’s eyelashes flutter shut in a motion as explicitly sensual as it is striking.

“Like this?” Hitoka asks, listening to the wobble of her voice in her throat, feeling the rush of Kiyoko’s pulse against her fingertips.

Kiyoko swallows, shifts her chin in a half-inch motion that is still clearly a nod. “Yes,” she breathes, whispering as if she’s absent the air Hitoka’s hands aren’t obstructing at all as yet. “Push harder.”

Hitoka takes a breath, feels it fill her lungs, feels the gasp slide past the clear space of her throat as she has never noticed it before. Then she steadies her hands, and braces her fingers, and tightens her grip, barely pushing harder with her thumbs against Kiyoko’s throat.

Kiyoko whimpers. Hitoka would be afraid the sound indicated pain if it weren’t so clearly, unquestionably heat that is spilling up the other girl’s throat; it’s obvious in the purr of roughness at the edge of the sound, clear in the dark weight of Kiyoko’s lashes pressed against her cheek. It’s even there in the angle of her knees, in the way the press of her thighs against each other is going taut with intent. Hitoka looks down for a moment, watches the way Kiyoko’s fingertips are fluttering with barely-there motion against the sheets -- and she presses harder, carefully, tensing her fingertips against Kiyoko’s throat in time with the curl of Kiyoko’s hand at the bed.

“ _Oh_ ,” Kiyoko manages, a single overheated sound that runs down Hitoka’s spine like electricity. “Hitoka.”

“Is this okay?” Hitoka asks, but she doesn’t really need an answer; she’s tightening her grip, steadying her hold, and Kiyoko is leaning back over the bed, her body curving down to the support of the mattress like she can’t recall how to hold herself upright. Hitoka trails her, pulled down by Kiyoko’s motion and the grip she has on the other girl’s throat, and then Kiyoko’s lying across the sheets, her eyes shut and lips parted on her breathing as Hitoka shifts her knees to find a better point of balance. She can feel her body trembling with the effort of holding herself up, the forward lean too much to sustain without pushing against the still-gentle hold of her hands, and then Kiyoko shifts her knees, angling her legs wider in unstated invitation, and Hitoka slides in closer to fit the weight of her leg between Kiyoko’s, close like they’ve only ever been a handful of times before. The contact is heady, rushing steam through Hitoka’s thoughts until it’s hard even to catch her breath, but Kiyoko is sighing, Kiyoko’s hand is reaching for Hitoka’s hip, and when she tugs Hitoka slides her knee up farther, tastes the rush of her heartbeat on the back of her tongue as her thigh presses against the open line of Kiyoko’s legs.

“Kiyoko,” Hitoka manages, the word slipping past the catch in her throat and the heat on her tongue to fall to the vibration of sound in the air. “Is this okay?”

Kiyoko blinks, then, her lashes shifting dark as they move. Her eyes are shadowed, the shades of purple and silver in them almost entirely eclipsed by the heat in her gaze; when she focuses on Hitoka it goes through the other girl like electricity, as if Kiyoko’s gaze is thunder warning for the lightning that shivers all down her spine. Hitoka’s fingers tremble, her grip tightens, and Kiyoko’s eyelashes flutter again, her throat working on a sound that Hitoka can feel catch into silence against the weight of her fingers.

“Yes,” Kiyoko says, and her voice is lower than Hitoka has ever heard it, purring in the back of her throat like Hitoka’s hold against her neck is granting it color and depth it’s never had before. “This is perfect.”

“Okay,” Hitoka says, and her whole body is going hot, her skin flushing to warmth to match the color she can feel shading dark over her cheekbones. When she shifts her weight Kiyoko’s legs slide open, Hitoka’s knee catches higher, and there’s a moment of breathless tension with nothing but the layers of Kiyoko’s clothing between their bodies. Kiyoko blinks, staring up at Hitoka, and Hitoka stares back at her, feeling her heart pound frantic in her chest like it’s waiting for a command. Kiyoko’s breathing is coming audibly loud in the air, the strain from Hitoka’s hold making itself heard in every exhale, but she doesn’t lift her hand to tap Hitoka’s collarbone, doesn’t form the words of _stop_ on her parted lips; she just watches, staring at Hitoka’s face like she’s waiting for the other girl to move, waiting for Hitoka’s decision to guide them both into the next few minutes. Hitoka can feel her body go hot, can feel her skin prickling with the weight of responsibility resting on her shoulders; and then she takes a breath and everything goes crystal-clear, like the whole world has come into focus as it has never been before.

Hitoka steadies her weight, and braces her hands, and when she presses down there’s no tremor in her fingertips; it’s gone as if it was never there, as if she’s never had a moment’s hesitation about weighting Kiyoko’s breathing with the deliberate burden of her hands. Kiyoko’s lashes flutter, her throat works on an unheard sound, and then her hips come up, her whole body arching off the bed and against the brace of Hitoka’s leg between her thighs. Hitoka’s breathing rushes out of her in a groan, the sound so low she would normally be embarrassed, but there’s no space in her newfound clarity for self-consciousness. Kiyoko’s eyes are shut, her lips parted on heat instead of air, and when Hitoka tenses her thumbs against the line of Kiyoko’s throat the other girl curves up towards her again, her whole body cresting like a wave against Hitoka’s leg. Hitoka’s gasping for air, huge inhales of oxygen that flare focus through her until she feels like she can see everything, like she’s absorbing every moment of the present picture-perfectly. Kiyoko’s throat is shifting under her hands, tiny involuntary motions as the other girl tries to inhale past the barrier of Hitoka’s hands; Hitoka eases her grip for a moment, lets Kiyoko fill her lungs once and then twice, and then bears down again, rocking forward with as much fluid grace as if she’s borrowed it from the heat radiating off Kiyoko’s skin. One of Kiyoko’s hands is at her hip, her fingers tensing in time with Hitoka’s; Hitoka can almost read the rhythm of Kiyoko’s attempts at breathing just from the weight digging into her hip. And with every breath Hitoka takes Kiyoko’s hips come up, her thighs straining to rock the heat of her body hard against the resistance of the other girl’s leg. Hitoka shifts her weight, presses closer to angle her leg nearer, and Kiyoko’s hand on the sheets seizes to a fist, dragging rumpled force over the fabric as she curves herself up to grind against Hitoka.

“God,” Hitoka gasps, hearing the word strain in her throat like the heat is too much for her mouth to bear. “Kiyoko, you’re _so_ beautiful.” She’s starting to tremble again, this time from desire instead of nerves, but it’s a distant awareness; the electricity spreading along the length of her spine is far-off, the heat collecting low in her stomach unimportant with the way Kiyoko is shivering under her. Kiyoko’s hold on Hitoka’s hip is the only steady point; for the rest she’s quivering, her shoulders and her wrist and her legs, like the effort it costs to push herself closer is more than she can bear and impossible to stop. Hitoka lets Kiyoko take another breath, feels the strain in the other’s girl’s throat under her fingers, and the power of it lances through her like fire, like she’s turning into something more radiant and beautiful than sunlight. Kiyoko’s hot under her, her cheeks flushed to pink and her lips damp with the effort of her breathing; the smooth of her hair is tangling against the pillow, the familiar line of her glasses slipping askew as she shudders, and Hitoka’s never seen her this beautiful before, has never had the courage to watch her like this on the few occasions they’ve been so near in the past. She rocks her weight forward, pushing down against Kiyoko as the other girl rocks up, and Kiyoko’s fingers tighten, her throat flexing hard against Hitoka’s hold with a motion as good as a moan stifled to silence by pressure. Hitoka gasps a lungful of air, all her skin flashing hot in anticipation, and then she tightens her fingers again and Kiyoko comes undone beneath her, shuddering soundlessly through waves of pleasure Hitoka can see turn the other girl’s expression soft and slack beneath her. Her thighs are trembling, tensing and relaxing in turn against Hitoka’s knee, and Hitoka lets the pressure of her hands go, lets Kiyoko gasp a raw breath of air as she quakes through the last jolts of orgasm. Kiyoko’s hand is still gripping Hitoka’s hip; her hold eases as she collapses heavy with heat against the bed, but the contact lingers, the friction trailing against the top edge of Hitoka’s skirt without curling under the elastic.

“Oh,” Hitoka breathes, and it’s only then that she starts to shake with adrenaline again, only as her hands draw back to show the faint red of her hold printed on Kiyoko’s skin that the full weight of what she’s just done -- what Kiyoko’s just _let_ her do -- hits her. “Oh, oh my god.”

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko says, her voice rough in the back of her throat, and opens her eyes. The light catches off their color, glows them into violets and greys that Hitoka could never capture with pen and pencil, and then Kiyoko smiles, a slow curve that spreads across the soft of her lips to eclipse the whole of her face into a glow like she’s lit up from the inside. The hand on the sheets comes up to catch at the back of Yachi’s neck, and when Kiyoko pulls Yachi leans down without thinking about it at all, as naturally as if leaning in for a kiss is what she had always intended to do. Kiyoko’s mouth fits against hers, Kiyoko’s lips press soft against her mouth, and then Kiyoko murmurs, “Thank you,” with so much heat on the words that Hitoka shudders with it all over again.

“Of course,” she says, but that’s not right. “I should thank you,” is closer, but adrenaline is taking over her voice, pushing her into a spill of words so rushed it breaks apart the contact of Kiyoko’s lips on hers. “It was amazing, I was really nervous but I really liked it and I was so afraid I was going to hurt you but I. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Kiyoko smiles. “No.”

“Oh good,” Hitoka gasps, relief and time-delayed panic hitting her at the same time until she feels like she’s running a marathon, like her heart is trying to beat out of her chest at the thought of what she’s just done. “I was so afraid I was going to hurt you, Kiyoko, I’m so glad you trusted me but I--”

“Hitoka.” It’s not very loud -- even at her most intense Hitoka’s never heard Kiyoko’s voice go above a soft speaking tone -- but it’s enough to stall all Hitoka’s words in her throat and to knot up her tongue on its rush of sound. She blinks hard, hard enough to clear the haze of panic from her vision, and when she brings her gaze back into focus on Kiyoko’s face the other girl is smiling at her, not the pleasure-radiant one from before but a half-curve of her lips, amusement as much under the expression as happiness. “It’s fine.” Hitoka takes a breath, lets it out all at once, and Kiyoko tips her head up for another kiss, catching Hitoka’s lower lip between hers to press a surge of heat through the other girl’s veins. “You were wonderful.”

“Oh,” Hitoka breathes. “But. You were.”

“So were you,” Kiyoko tells her, and then she’s kissing her again, fitting her mouth to the other girl’s before Hitoka’s rattled awareness can catch up to the runaway coherency of her mind. Hitoka’s eyelashes flutter shut, there’s the shape of a whimper in her throat, and then Kiyoko is _really_ kissing her, parting her lips and tracing against the line of Hitoka’s mouth with her tongue. Hitoka opens her mouth without needing to think about it at all, capitulation coming as easily to this as it did to the touch of Kiyoko’s fingers in her hair, and then Kiyoko is pushing up from the bed and urging Hitoka sideways and Hitoka’s going without resistance, rolling back to take her turn falling over Kiyoko’s bed as Kiyoko turns in to land atop her. Kiyoko’s hand is against her face, the weight of her palm fitting warm just under Hitoka’s ear, and Hitoka is still gasping with the heat spinning dizzily through her mind when Kiyoko pulls away from her mouth and slides her hand free of Hitoka’s hair.

“Thank you,” Kiyoko says again, her voice so soft Hitoka doesn’t even need to try to steady her hazy vision to see what expression the other girl is wearing; the resonant heat on those words is enough to carry the necessary meaning all alone. “Thank you so much, Hitoka.” Kiyoko’s leg is between Hitoka’s, fitting into the gap between the other girl’s knees, but she doesn’t lean forward and down the way Hitoka did moments ago; she’s reaching instead, curling her fingers under the edge of Hitoka’s skirt and urging the weight of the fabric up high against the other’s thighs. “You did so well, you were perfect, better than I imagined.”

“Oh,” Hitoka says, sounding very nearly as breathless as she feels. Kiyoko’s fingertips brush her skin, pressing heat against the inside of her thigh, and Hitoka’s knees fall open reflexively, inviting the other girl’s touch higher even as her cheeks flame to heat on the suggestion of the position. “You...you imagined that?”

Kiyoko’s smile is warm, lopsided at the corner of her mouth and spreading across the whole width of her face. “I did,” she says, and then, as her fingertips drag higher, as her touch catches at the very edge of Hitoka’s panties: “Extensively.” It’s delivered with remarkable calm; Kiyoko sounds like she’s simply stating a fact the same way she might explain a technique in a volleyball game. But the image it grants is enough for Hitoka’s cheeks to stain crimson with color, enough for Hitoka’s breath to rush out of her lungs in a groan that comes out as overheated as she feels, and then Kiyoko is purring a laugh as her fingers slide past the barrier of the other girl’s panties.

“Now I won’t have to imagine,” Kiyoko is saying, but Hitoka is only barely listening to her anymore; she’s distracted by trying to fight back the involuntary strain collecting in her hips, by trying to keep herself from bucking up against the friction of Kiyoko’s touch sliding across her just above the aching heat of her clit. “I can just remember you, now.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hitoka gasps, and Kiyoko’s touch presses against her, offers the sudden relief of friction right where Hitoka wants it with such precision that she never has a chance to restrain the arch that curves in her spine or the wail of heat that breaks free from her throat. She’s just moving, her body lifting up to meet the rush of sensation offered by Kiyoko’s fingers, and Kiyoko is smiling somewhere in Hitoka’s heat-hazed vision, Kiyoko is leaning in to press a kiss to Hitoka’s mouth as she pins the other girl down with the weight of her hand.

“Hitoka,” she breathes, the word falling an inch away from Hitoka’s lips, “you’re so beautiful” and that’s absurd, that’s a ridiculous thing to say with Kiyoko herself so near, with the glossy dark of her hair spilling over her shoulder to weight at Hitoka’s blouse, but her fingers are dragging against the wet heat of Hitoka’s entrance and Hitoka can’t breathe well enough to voice a protest. The best she can do is a whimper, and that comes out as hot as a plea rather than with the grate of a protest, and then Kiyoko’s touch is sliding into her and she’s too busy trembling reaction to think coherently. There’s a hand at her cheek, Kiyoko’s fingertips trailing against her skin and sliding into the flyaway strands of her own hair so unlike the rich weight of Kiyoko’s, but there’s pressure inside her too, Kiyoko’s fingers easing her open as Hitoka’s legs spread reflexively wider, and Hitoka can’t spare more than a breath of thought for self-consciousness before Kiyoko’s touch dissolves into the swell of heat collecting against her spine.

It’s hard to breathe. The air feels heavy, hot and thick as syrup with every gasping inhale Hitoka takes, until each breath is a fight won, every exhale bracing expectation for the next battle. But Kiyoko’s fingers are sliding farther into her, Kiyoko’s thumb is pressing friction over her, and Hitoka can’t mind the lack of oxygen sending her thoughts dizzy when her whole body is so tremblingly hot in exchange. She wonders distantly, if this is what it was like for Kiyoko, if it was this same hazy distraction that caught her and dragged her over the edge into pleasure, but then she’s thinking of the soft give of Kiyoko’s mouth on her unvoiced moan and the feel of the other girl trembling under her weight and she’s gasping for more air in a rush, struggling for her inhales as her body arches up in an unspoken plea for more. Kiyoko is moving faster, now, her fingers curling and sliding with a rhythm far quicker and more graceful than any Hitoka has been able to achieve on her own, and Hitoka’s whole body is shaking now, the curve of her spine and the tremor running helplessly through her legs all a plea for _more_ that goes unstated for the gasp of air in her throat. Kiyoko’s breathing harder too, Hitoka can hear the full-throated rush of her inhales catching into the edge of audibility with each heartbeat, but Hitoka isn’t seeing her anymore; her eyes are squeezed shut, the tension along her spine and curling her hands into fists on the sheets catching at her mouth and eyelids just as it controls the rest of her.

Hitoka can feel Kiyoko’s touch at her cheek draw away, can feel the rush of cool in its wake so sudden it feels like a chill, but before she can muster a shiver it’s back again, a weight catching at the shoulder of her blouse and drawing down against the fabric in a slow glide as certain as it is gentle. Hitoka gasps, her heel catching at the bed to arch her higher, and then Kiyoko’s touch is dragging against the curve of her breast, pinning the thin fabric of Hitoka’s blouse and the weight of her bra against the other girl’s skin. It shouldn’t be enough -- there’s still cloth between them, the texture of Kiyoko’s fingerprints are lost to the shirt before they can meet Hitoka’s flushed skin -- but the weight goes through Hitoka like lightning, spilling the air from her lungs into a moan lower than any sound she’s ever tasted from her own throat before. Kiyoko’s palm presses against her, her fingers fitting to the curve of the other girl’s breast, and she’s still moving her other hand too, still pressing heat into Hitoka’s body with each forward thrust of her fingers and fitting tension into her limbs with each stroke of her thumb against Hitoka’s clit. Hitoka’s clinging to the sheet, her fingers clutching to fists and dragging like she’s trying to hold herself down to the world, and everything is too much, everything is _enough_ , and when Kiyoko’s fingers press inside her Hitoka gasps, and shudders, and lets the convulsive tremors of orgasm rush over her. Her hands relax, her body eases against the bed; even self-consciousness is too far-off to hold to, lost somewhere in the haze of unimportance that has swamped everything but the all-over heat of the moment.

Kiyoko lets Hitoka tremble through the last shivering waves of pleasure without moving, with her hand still fitting against the curve of the other girl’s breast and her fingers still pressing friction inside her. It’s not until Hitoka has managed a full breath of air and is starting to blink vague attention at the ceiling overhead that Kiyoko eases the pressure of her thumb and draws her fingers free. The drag quivers another shudder down Hitoka’s spine, the motion obvious enough that she starts to flush with embarrassment about it, but Kiyoko’s other hand is sliding down to curl against her waist and Kiyoko’s leaning in over her, and however self-conscious Hitoka might feel Kiyoko is always beautiful enough to push all other thoughts out of her head.

“Hitoka,” Kiyoko says, her lips fitting around the syllables of Hitoka’s name and turning them into starlight, into poetry. “Thank you.”

“Oh,” Hitoka says, speech choking on the incoherent appreciation at the back of her mind. “No, thank _you_ , you’re so. I’m so grateful, Kiyoko, really, you’re so wonderful and perfect and beautiful and I’m just me and I don’t deserve you, I’m--”

“You do,” Kiyoko says, and there’s no anger in her eyes but her voice is a wall, disagreement so immoveable it stops Hitoka’s rambling speech where it stands. “You’re beautiful, Hitoka.” Her fingers tighten at Hitoka’s waist, her gaze slides down to Hitoka’s mouth; when she smiles it’s a tiny curve of her lips, a secret happiness just big enough to fit between them. “You’re perfect.”

Hitoka doesn’t think this is true. It’s Kiyoko that is perfect, Kiyoko that is graceful and self-confident and beautiful in a way Hitoka can never hope to be. But Kiyoko is looking at her like she’s something lovely, like she’s someone special, and when the other girl leans closer to press a kiss to Hitoka’s lips, Hitoka doesn’t try to argue the point.

She’s happier trusting Kiyoko’s judgment than her own, anyway.


End file.
